Going Back
by DevilofSexAppeal
Summary: "But I don't love you."  Like that had ever mattered. /My first story! Reviews adored!/ They had both become something in New York, but they didn't become it together.
1. Chapter 1

When he first sees her, he isn't convinced it's actually her. Yeah, she's in the city too, and yeah, that girl does look an awful lot like the one he's seen on the posters, but he still has his doubts. He's learned by now that New York is a big place, and no matter how long he's been there, it seems just as large as ever. In all his years, he's never run into someone he knows while on the street.

It's only fitting that she would be the exception.

It's when she draws closer that he acknowledges the truth; it's definitely her, and she's heading his way. It also happens that he's walking towards her- not because he wants to approach her, it's just that he was already heading in that direction (the liquor store is at the end of the block). He's not going to change directions just because of her, he's a little too old for that sort of behavior.

Not that he would have acted differently when he was younger.

So he's walking down the sidewalk, just moving with the flow, and he's surprised to see her. But it's not like there's some giddy emotion coursing through him or anything, it's not like he'll start jumping up and down like a pussy. It's not like he's been waiting to see her again, because lately she hasn't hardly crossed his mind (of course he can never completely forget her, either). He's moved on, and he knows she must have moved on too, because they're not idiots and they know how life works. Only losers get caught up in the _'what may have been' _scenarios.

He likes to think, after all these years, he's finally proven to them that he isn't just some small-town loser. Not that he needs anyone's reassurance, he sure as hell knows that he's become more than most of them.

She's walking towards him, but she doesn't see him- and he's not surprised in the least; her gaze is focused too far ahead to notice him. It always has been. But even if she doesn't see him, he sees her, and his eyes are resting on her, unashamed. Even if he's not giddy, he _is _surprised to see her; it's been a long time.

He sort of relishes the fact that he sees her before she sees him. He finds a perverse satisfaction in that he can call the shots right now, that he can choose whether or not she notices him. He has the power to enter her life again, no matter how brief the moment, and it's just as easy to decide against it as for it. This power makes him feel like he's one-upped her in some way, and one-upping Rachel Berry is quite the feat.

His eyes roam her body as it becomes visible through the crowd. He's satisfied to see she's still a hot piece of ass. He thinks he'd be depressed if she were ugly now, as if that would somehow reflect poorly on him. He likes to imagine that all the chicks he's banged are still attractive, at least all the ones around his age. He likes to think he has a talent in picking out the future cougars.

He refuses to admit that she deserves more of a title than_ 'girl I banged #437'_, but he does admit that he's sort of impressed with how well put together she is. If he thought about Kurt at all these days, maybe he would think the boy would have been impressed with her ensemble.

She's almost at him now, but he doesn't do anything to attract her attention. He doesn't speed up or slow down, and he briefly wonders if he's going to actually allow her to slip past him, allow her to remain oblivious to his presence, allow her to go on her merry way.

That would be the _nice_ thing to do; that would be the _right_ thing to do.

"Hey." His tone is just light enough to convey some sort of excitement in seeing her again, because that's how you're supposed to greet old friends (admittedly, they'd never really been friends; somehow they always managed to skip that fundamental building block in their relationship).

She stops in her tracks, several steps past him, and he stops as well, turning his head and shoulders to stare as she whips around. Surprise is etched into her features, but it disappears quickly as a warm smile spreads across her face.

He had almost forgotten how good of an actor she really is.

"Noah?"

He lifts his shoulders in a casual, half-hearted shrug, his jacket crackling at the movement, as if to say '_who else?'_

She flips her hair over her shoulder to keep the wind from blowing it in her face. Her smile doesn't falter as her lilting voice hits the air,

"My god! How are you?"

"Pretty decent, pretty decent." He admits, life hasn't been bad for him at all. "How've you been?" He can't tell whether or not the interest in his voice is real, but he isn't given the time to think it over.

"I've been doing remarkably well, actually." She's facing him now, her smile still so damn perfect; he doesn't turn around completely, and his smile is more of a smirk. She doesn't elaborate on her life, just like he didn't elaborate on his. He thinks she's also realized how little both of them care.

He's not good with small talk, he never has been, and in all honesty he fucking hates it. Still, he's not quite brave enough to delve to deep in a conversation with her again, so he settles on something that's familiar enough to both of them, while also being unsettling enough to stir some interest:

"Have you ever gone back?" He's not sure if he actually even cares, but for some reason he can't bring himself to avoid saying it.

She understands, of course, and for a moment he thinks he sees the smile flicker. But she's a damn good actress, and in the end he thinks he was just imagining the slip.

"Not since my fathers moved out to California." She responds so easily, and he wonders if this conversation is just like acting out one of her Broadway scripts. She seems so collected, and he thinks that maybe she just doesn't _do_ awkward anymore; it's probably not something she has room in her life for.

For a second he wonders if there's anything real about her or if she's all fake, just like the clichés and stereotypes have proclaimed. And then, for a millisecond, he actually cares enough to be upset with the idea that she's totally phony. Then the moment passes and he's back to normal, wondering what the hell is wrong with him.

"What about you?" She asks, as if she realizes that it takes two parties to have a conversation and that she has to initiate some of it. He's surprised to see her try.

"Used to. Not so much anymore." He doesn't know what else to say about it. He used to visit frequently, to see his mom and his sister and his old friends, but now he doesn't. His mom and sister come to New York to visit him now. And his old friends, well, he just doesn't see them at all.

He's been making good money lately, and he's starting to make a name for himself. Who he used to be has faded into the background, the delinquent he'd once been no longer occupying the center stage. He's successfully buried the old "Puck" away, making him more of a memory than an identity.

Still, he's not quite as big as her (of course not), but then again he's still something. He doesn't even acknowledge that she's somewhat responsible for his success; because it was a really long time ago (at least it feels that way).

Neither of them mention the awkwardness associated with "going home". They don't talk about how uncomfortable they feel whenever they return to Lima, because it's not like they left together or anything. This point in their lives, this moment, is composed of two entirely separate people; two completely different stories have led up to this point. So, they don't bond over how awkward it is, being so changed, so _new_, only to return to that sleepy little town and discover that nothing there has changed, not really. They've each seen most of their old friends, and they've seen how little those friends have changed, and they realize that time doesn't really seem to pass in Lima, and it's like the town is nothing more than a memory. Needless to say, they've always been desperate to leave by the time they actually get to depart.

"There's not a whole lot for me there, ya know?" At first he's not sure he actually said it aloud, and then he's not sure why he's said it, and then he's glad it's finally been said. He's been denying it for years, keeping it hidden like a sin, and deep down he feels like a traitor.

"I believe I can empathize with you there." Her smile seems more genuine now, not that it looked fake before, so maybe this is all in his head as well. Still, whether she's real or fake, he grins back, realizing that if there is one person who can understand his reluctance to visit Lima, it's her. They both avoid it, the small hometown they've outgrown, and neither of them miss it in the slightest (at least, neither of them miss the actual town).

"I guess we were too big for that place, huh?" He chuckles, offering a meek smile to accompany his words. That's before he realizes that that is the first time in a long time he's used "we". From the way she shifts, as if surprised, he thinks she may have realized this also.

"I suppose," her response comes easily, airily, "but then, it's only to be expected." There's humor in her tone, and he's confused for a moment, and it must show on his face because she quirks a brow teasingly.

"We're a couple of good looking Jews. It was only natural we needed something more."

Her words make him freeze but he doesn't know why. He knows there's more behind the words than he recognizes, but that doesn't help him remember. Something about the words scream familiarity, and for a second he wonders if it's some old movie quote.

It's only then he realizes she's walking away, exiting his world just as quickly as he entered hers. He turns a little more, shamelessly staring at her ass as she goes. Yeah, still hot as fuck.

The ghost of a smile on his face, he waits a few seconds before turning and going on his way. He tries to remember what brand of liquor he was supposed to pick up.

And of course, there's no evidence that they ever even ran into each other.

* * *

**Assigned Prompt: Puck and Rachel run into each other in the street after years of not seeing each other. Implications of a past romance required. **

**Note: The votes are in and I've decided to make this more than just a one-shot! Wooooooo...-cough- Anyways, this is my first fanfiction, and therefore I'd love some reviews if any of you have the time. If not, no worries, life can make us busy. XD **


	2. Chapter 2

The second time he sees her, she totally spots him first.

The room is loud and tightly packed, the lighting so muted that irregular shadows are cast across all those present. She realizes that her four inch stiletto heels are not enough to keep her from feeling dwarfed by the crowd, and she's feeling a little claustrophobic right now, but she's alright with that because her coworker's hand is splayed out across her lower back, his arm brushing hers, and he's helping her navigate through the throngs of people. He's chatting to her amiably, using his free hand to make dramatic gestures as he tries to express himself. She's laughing as they approach the little tables near the corner, and they grab all the free chairs they can find, setting them up impossibly close. The music is loud, but not deafening, and it's actually really good. The current band is lively, and they're interacting with the crowd as they play.

Several members of her group, mostly guys, separate from them then, heading to the bar to pick up a little liquid fun and courage. One of her close friends also opts to head to the bar, announcing that she's 'looking for something a little stronger than alcohol'. Rachel arches a brow in suspicion, but her friend just winks before heading off towards the bar with the others. She leans back in her chair, scanning the direction her friend is heading in. She breaks out in a laugh as soon as she understands; trust her friend to be the first to notice the hot bartender.

It had been a good night for them all. Aside from a disastrous backstage wardrobe malfunction, the final show of the night had gone off without a hitch. Of course, like most nights, they've headed out to celebrate their immense talent, success, and fabulosity (modest they are not). Tonight, however, is a little more special than most nights out, as one of the leads is celebrating a birthday, more specifically, the lead that had his arm around her shoulders. He had been given supreme control of the night, and now bore the authority to dictate where they went (he had the good grace to not look too disappointed when Rachel informed him that a strip club was _not_ a feasible option).

Surprisingly, he had chosen tonight to admit that he was a closet jazz fan (he blamed his previous role in _Chicago_), and declared that they should all head to a jazz club. She wasn't all too familiar with the jazz scene, but she appreciated it well enough, and she definitely appreciated the birthday boy, who seemed rather adamant that she stay right by his side all night.

The rest of their party return with the drinks in hand, and, after a little persuading, the guys convince the girls to do shots with them. Rachel makes him promise to not let her do anything too stupid tonight, and he responds with a cocky smile and a _noticeably_ half-hearted promise. She trusts him despite his response, so she laughs. The shots are a good way to start off their night, and soon everyone is loosened up and laughing.

She's chatting over the noise with her coworkers when the music comes to a stop. They, along with the rest of the crowd, applaud the band as they take their equipment down. Another band moves in to set-up, but her attention is back on her friends. The music that blasts from the speakers during the intermission is more low-key that what they were listening to live, so now she can actually hear the conversation she's been participating in.

Even though she's glanced over at the new band a few times, she doesn't notice anything until they begin the sound check. That's when she hears his voice, and that's when she looks up. He does a little countdown before joking around with his band mates to entertain the crowd. She doesn't remember how long it's been since the day they crossed each other on the street; she didn't even remember that day until now.

He's standing there, center stage with a guitar in hand, and he's probably never looked better. His outfit stirs something within her, bringing forth memories she'd long forgotten. She remembers, back before they were anybody, back to when that small little town could still be called _home_, and back to that early August night. She almost smiles then, but she's quickly being distracted by her friends and her attention leaves him.

At the persuading of the guys, who all promise they won't let them do anything _too_ stupid, they all take shots again. One of the guys decides to clarify that if the girls want to do something like, say…make out, no one's going to stop them. Because that isn't stupid, it's beautiful. When the other guys agree, even the gay one, the girls laugh and respond with things like "fuck you!" and "dream on!"

His band starts playing then, and judging by the crowd's reaction they're pretty popular around there. Watching the band perform, she decides it isn't hard to see why. The music is good, the guys are cute, and Noah's singing in the front and practically eye-fucking every girl he looks at. When he winks at a clearly homosexual man in the crowd, well, she has to raise a brow at that. She thinks that if she ever speaks to him again, she'll have to call him out on it.

Her coworker grabs her attention, pouting in a way she finds immensely entertaining. He's upset that she's focusing more on the band than him, and of course she apologizes profusely; it is his big day after all. She laughs and concedes, returning her attention to her friends. Her group is quickly becoming loud and obnoxious, but the music is still louder so it's okay. The more they drink the more over-the-top dramatic they become, and soon they're talking about the weirdest things, like whatever happened to the Chihuahua from the Taco Bell commercial, or like whether the lamp in the corner is crooked, or whether the bartender on the right is hetero or bi (and does he seem like the kind of man to be interested in a threesome?). It's obnoxious, but it's how they _do_ drunk. They are strictly in-your-face and on-your-mind kinds of people; they are practically Broadway personified (again, modesty is not their forte).

The boys part to grab a few more drinks (and see if they can figure out the bartender), and her gaze wanders to the stage again. She watches him for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips. Nothing about _him _is Broadway. His voice isn't fluid enough, his movements not controlled enough, his presence too intimidating, and his mannerisms far too indecorous to live a life like hers. And that's quite alright, she decides, because it's obvious he's in his element now, and this is the happiest she thinks she's ever seen him. He's not in the world of rock and roll he'd talked about, dreamt about, but maybe he'd come to realize that that particular lifestyle wouldn't do him any good. God knows, he never listened to her when she tried to explain that.

Which, she could have realized but didn't, might have actually been for the best. He had found this on his own, and she would have been proud of him if she'd been thinking about it.

She's intoxicated enough to laugh when he winks at the blonde closest to the stage, and when he begins singing directly at the woman, she rolls her eyes. Knowing him, and judging by the expression on the blonde's face, he is going to get laid after the show. For some reason this makes her smile, and she actually feels glad that he still has a bit of whatever-the-hell-he-had-before left in him. If she were any more sober, she'd probably ask herself why she cared.

It's then that his gaze sweeps over the tables, and their eyes lock for the first and last time that night. She would have to bet that he's surprised to see her. Again. She'd be surprised if she was capable of controlling her thoughts right now.

She offers him a slow smile, soft and polite, and for a moment it's almost like she's sober. He inclines his head slightly in what she assumes is a sign of acknowledgment, but her head feels a little fuzzy and she doesn't really care right now. He looks away then, not missing a beat in the song, and she doesn't miss his gaze.

Turning back to her friends, she hardly glances at the stage for the rest of the time they're there. Every now and then he may glance over at her, but that's just because eyes are easily drawn to familiar faces. Well, that, and she's sexy as hell in her little, green, halter-top dress. But he's got plenty of sexy right in front of him, so mostly he focuses on that.

Her head is moving in time with the music, and she spends the rest of the time laughing and chatting and drinking with her friends. None of them get up to dance; it's still too early for that (they're all too cool to dance before midnight), so they stay where they are and order more drinks. It won't be long, probably, until they're all belting out show tunes, and that's probably when they'll be kicked out (sometimes all the money in the world isn't enough to save you).

She's more than delightfully buzzed as the alcohol works its way through her system, and she's laughing at something her friends says, though she can't remember if what he said is actually funny. She also doesn't remember sitting in his lap, or when he put his arms around her, but she'll roll with the punches. They're still laughing and having a good time, and she's feeling a lot less uptight. She just cheers when one of her friends whistles at Noah, though she does help restrain him when he decides he wants to "Get a piece of that!"

She thinks that maybe he caught Noah winking at the men too.

Tonight may have been considered a step in the wrong direction, considering they don't even talk to each other this time. Her and her friends vary from tipsy to flat-out drunk, and they're all laughing as they exit the club in favor of heading to the new bar down the street. She links arms with the birthday boy to stop herself from stumbling around, and she giggles when he smiles down at her. By tomorrow she will have already forgotten all the details, so for her it might as well not have happened.

Meanwhile, _his_ eyes and attention are on the blonde in the front row; he doesn't even notice her leave, and he doesn't look for her after the shows done.

* * *

**Thought I'd trying focusing more on Rachel for this chapter. What do you think? I'll definitely go back to Puck in the next one, but I think it'll be more interesting if I go back and forth a bit. **

**Reviews are adored beyond anything else, though alerts are still pretty sweet. **

**I'll warn you now, I'm serious when I say this story is angsty. It shouldn't be _too_ horrible, there will be sweet and funny moments and all that, but it's not going to be all rainbows and sunshine and flowers and what-not. **

**There is a poll on my page regarding how this story will end. I'm leaving it up to the readers to decide if they want a happy ending, or a sad ending. If you want a say, go vote!**

**I've thought it over, and I think I'm going to stick with a T rating. Nothing against M, but at the moment I feel that it's not needed in this storyline. **


	3. Chapter 3

The third time around, he's pretty sure that God's just fucking with him. Because this, _this shit right here_, should so not be happening to him. Well, unless karma actually does exist. Because in that case, yeah, he can admit that he kind-of-sort-of pretty much **does** deserve this sort of shit…maybe.

"-and this lovely lady is Rachel Berry-"

He knows who she fucking is. He wants to say that aloud, but he doesn't, he just _smiles_ at her and nods as if he's never seen her before. He even acts like he cares who she is, like he's happy to meet the man with his arm wrapped around her, like this is just a perfectly happy introduction. She flashes him that perfect smile, and acts equally interested in learning who he is (as if she doesn't know), and he's torn between scowling and smiling. It's like some inside joke he never wanted to be a part of (but that was a lie). It takes him a moment to realize that the studio producer is still talking.

"-the cast will be in on Tuesday, and we're hoping-" He loses interest again pretty quickly, turning his attention back to the drink in his hand.

It's empty. There is no more scotch in his glass. There is nothing alcoholic in his hand. No matter how it's phrased, it ends up with him lacking liquor, and thereby lacking his only means of retaining sanity. He represses a frustrated groan, and fights to not roll his eyes. This party is unbearable enough _with_ hard liquor, without it he's positive he will keel over.

He can't remember when he started to attend parties for work rather than pleasure, but he quickly came to the realization that he didn't like it. He should not have to attend a party where he was expected to act professional. Hell, these sorts of parties should just not exist; they had to be some sort of oxymoron. Still, he knows how to put on a good front at these sorts of social gatherings. He knows how to impress people, hell, that's practically what a stud does, and, as a stud, that's what he's been doing his entire life.

Then she glances at him again, her brow lifting slightly as if to say '_are you serious_?', and suddenly he's a little pissed. He knows that she knows he's drunk (he's not drunk he's _buzzed_), but he doesn't feel that she has the right to be judging him right now. Because, honestly, how the hell would he get through this shit sober? He's not a saint, and he's not like _them_, and she should know by now that this is the best he can do.

Anyways, it's not like drinking is a crime, and as long as the other guests don't pick up on his intoxication (they won't; he's subtle and they're idiotic) he's golden. He has nothing to be ashamed of, and yeah, he does take another glass from the server that passes by. And maybe he _did_ just send her a smug little smirk, and maybe it did contain a little bit of that _yeah-I'm-drunk-so-what? _vibe.

Her responding eye roll is expected, but the look that follows isn't. He looks in time to catch the look she tosses his way, and his stomach tightens out of reflex. He recognizes that look, as subtle as it is. Her eyes are on him for the briefest moment, and there's the slightest quirk of her lips, as if she's caught in between a frown and a smile, caught between annoyance and amusement. He's frozen, remembering what _that_ particular look used to mean, what it used to lead to, but then she's looking away, and her attention is back on the chatty producer.

Slightly…disgruntled, he takes a good, long drink, and then forces himself to pretend to listen to whatever the man's saying. He avoids looking at her for a while after that.

* * *

"Are you bisexual?"

If he had been drinking anything at that particular moment he would have spit it out. Seeing as he hadn't been drinking, he quickly takes a gulp of the beverage in his hand. Deciding that isn't enough he takes another drink, almost choking in his haste. Swallowing, he replies with an appalled, "No!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of Noah."

She's so clearly amused, wine glass in one hand as she crosses her arms and lifts her chin to stare him directly in the eye, and it's pissing him off to no end. How could she, of all people, possibly question his sexuality? How did she come up with this shit? Is there any part of him, anywhere, that doesn't scream bad-ass motherfucker (literally)?

"Are you serious? I'm a fucking stud!" She frowns in response and he's already regretting his words, knowing exactly what's about to come. She doesn't disappoint, instantly launching into a rant about his blatantly homophobic attitude, and somewhere within the first sentence of her rant he stops paying attention.

Leaning against the railing, he glances down below, admiring the view of the city at night. He's not one to enjoy the scenery usually, but anything is a favorable alternative to staring at her (he may be lying) or listening to her criticize him (he's _so_ not lying). He wonders how he'd even been able to put up with that shit, back when they were together. Inwardly he cringes for even thinking about "back then". She's still ranting when he comes to, and he's not even pretending to listen as he lifts his glass again.

She whacks him on the arm, and he's not sure who's more surprised by the contact. They both hide their surprise quickly though, and she's back to being pissy as she hisses,

"Stop drinking!"

He rolls his eyes, completely convinced she gets off by telling him what to do. She'd already thrown his pack of cigarettes over the balcony, but she sure as hell wasn't getting his scotch. With deliberate and mocking slowness, he lifts the glass to his mouth and watches her reaction as he suddenly tilts his head back and downs it. Her expression of indignant shock is enough to make him smirk.

He sets down his glass, and he's still not listening to her as she warns him about the dangers of alcohol abuse, his gaze returning to the scenery as he tries to remember where he parked, or if he even has a car. It's not until he hears her make some sort of comment about him being a "horrible ass" that he finds himself insulted enough to respond. He turns back towards her, and he's not sure who's angrier.

"My ass is hot and you know you've been staring at it all night." Yeah, so maybe that hadn't _exactly _been the point of her little verbal attack, but that's about all he got out of it. She gaps for a second, and he smirks, mentally patting himself on the back for making her speechless (if only for a second).

"Regardless of that fact, Noah, you're still-" His smirk widens as she stops talking, and he just watches as her fatal error sinks in. Her expression quickly becomes horrified, and he chuckles as she takes a step back. She can use every single fucking word in the dictionary if she wants, but he's so going to win this argument. He just stares as she fiddles with her wine glass, clearly trying to find some way to rectify the situation and come out on top. Finally she just points at him, angry all over again, and even though it's hard to tell in the dark he thinks she may be blushing,

"How can you still be so juvenile?"

He raises a brow, smirk still on his face as he tilts his head forward, as if to ask '_Really?_' His lack of verbal response is enough to make her scowl deepen.

He's mildly surprised when she just sighs and shakes her head, and he's a little fearful when she leans against the railing next to him. They're both silent for a long moment, and he just watches the way she twirls her wine glass.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" She grumbles, but it's half-hearted and tired. He doesn't look at her; instead he smirks at the city below.

"I might have been told that once or twice." There may have been some sarcasm in his response, but he still grins when she hits him on the arm again. She's smiling as well, though she tries to hide it as she sets her glass down next to his.

"You dating him?" She's surprised by the question but he pretends not to notice. She shifts slightly, clearly uncomfortable, before responding.

"Yes." Her voice is quiet, but he doesn't notice. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, raising a brow as he feigns hurt.

"You're not going to ask me if I'm seeing anyone?"

She scoffs at that, and he doesn't know whether or not he should be insulted. They're silent then, both of them focused on the city.

"He's a good man." She says after a while, turning to face him, unsure of how to go about this. He scoffs, looking back at her. He isn't in the mood to pick a fight though, not anymore. Still, he wants to win.

"My ass is better."

She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling as she humors him, "Whatever you say, Noah."

He smirks.

"Damn straight."

What happens next is something she'll probably blame the alcohol for; he probably won't. Either way it doesn't really matter, because neither of them will ever talk about it.

It's quick and it's brutal. He's there, she's there, and then suddenly there's no space in between them and his mouth is on hers. His tongue is in her mouth and her hands are on him, and neither one can breath as teeth clash and nip and pull. The world almost fades away, but that's most likely just due to all the scotch he's consumed.

Voices nearby break them apart, and even though he's breathing a little too heavily he can still hear her name being called from inside. They're looking for her, and she doesn't disappoint. She never does. She leaves and doesn't look back, stepping back into the well lit area, back into reality and far away from him and this shady little balcony. He leans against the railing again, staring after her as his breathing calms. He turns back towards the city wishing he had a cigarette. He prays that he'll never see her again.

A small part of him (one that he most certainly will _not_ acknowledge) is almost afraid that God will choose now to listen.

* * *

**Drunk Puck has foul language...that's all I have to say about that. It's hard to keep them in character, given that this is set in the future, and their overall...drunkness. **

**As always, leave reviews if you have the time! Story alerts are also golden if you don't have the time to review. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

_"You're such an idiot!" She snaps, pushing past him on her way to the kitchen._

_He staggers into the wall, her ferocity unexpected. He recovers quickly though, not that she notices, and rolls his eyes as she disappears. He doesn't know if he should be surprised that she's upset, but he isn't. This sort of thing? Totally the norm._

_Against his better judgment he follows her, pausing to lean against the door frame. She's running the tap, waiting for the water to cool as she pulls out a glass. He steps into the room, grimacing at the way his wet sneakers sound against the tile. He runs a hand through his hair, slicking back the water that's beaded there. He does nothing to shake the water off his hand as he leans against the counter across from her._

_She's not facing him, and he's bitterly wishing that for once, just_ **fucking **_once, she'd look him in the eye. But she won't, no; she'll probably never even attempt it. He acts like it doesn't bother him; he acts like he doesn't even notice. It does, he does._

_His face twists into a scowl, hiding the frustration behind a wall of anger. He's a natural at that._

_"I don't see what the big fucking deal is."_

_He actually doesn't, she's totally overreacting. Her spine stiffens, her posture straightening as she stops moving. She has the sense to turn off the water before her cup overfills, and the sudden lack of white noise draws even more tension into the room._

_"Oh. You don't?" Her response is short, clipped even, completely monotone and un-accusing, not dramatic in the slightest. He knows he's in for it now, but that's not enough to get him to stop._

_"No, I really fucking don't. Want to __enlighten_ _me as to why you're being a bitch?"_

_She all but slams the glass down, her hands moving to clench to counter around the sink as she leans into it. He recognizes what she's doing even before she takes a deep breath. She's trying to calm down, trying to gain composure._ Trying to stay in character.

_He won't have that, and he's not backing down._

_"You're overreacting." It's simple, but effective. She whirls around, and he smirks in acidic satisfaction as she finally looks him in the eye. They're clearly making great strides tonight; who needs couple's therapy?_

_"And this_, this, _is coming from you?" Her laughter is incredulous, condescending, and he's wishing he had something to break right now. Her reaction burns him, badly, and his fist clenches, because he needs to direct the tension _somewhere_. He pushes away from the counter, and he's defensive and pissed as he looms over her, closer than what would be comfortable._

_"What's that supposed to mean?" He sneers, feeling almost cliché for even saying it, but no other words come to mind. He can tell by her expression that she doesn't like where this is heading, and hell, he doesn't either. But they' can't stop now, they're going too fast and they're too close to the cliff's edge to prevent the fall._

_She doesn't seem to realize the inevitable, because she tries to turn around anyways, "Forget it; forget I said anything at all!" She tries to storm past him, but he's ready this time around. He steps in front of her, blocking her way as he glares down at her. She's avoiding his eyes again. Fan-_fucking_-tastic._

_"Oh no, this isn't over! You're going to tell me why _you're_ so pissed when _you're_ the one who flipped out."_

_Her eyes are back on his in an instant, a scowl marring her face. He can't tell if she's crying or if it's just the rain._

_"I did not, as you so eloquently put it, "flip out". If anyone "flipped out", it was you!" She snaps, trying again to get around him. He leans against the door, stretching out an arm to keep her boxed in._

_"What?" He has no idea what she's talking about, maybe due to obliviousness, probably due to denial._

_"Last week. You'd barely been in the door a minute before you freaked out!" He stiffens at that, his arm pushing against the door frame unconsciously._

_"Whoa. Hold up. That shit's not the same!" He's not sure who's angrier at this point, and that pisses him off. She has no right to be this upset right now, not when it's her fault._

_"Obviously, considering that there was clearly nothing of a scandalous nature going on- "_

_"Please, that douche was totally eye fucking you!" He cuts her off, too worked up to let her finish._

_"And what was going on tonight?"_

_"Nothing was going on!" He responds, exasperation showing as he repeats what he said before. What does she want him to say? She scoffs,_

_"That was _not_ nothing. Please, she was all over you!"_

_"Exactly, she was all over _me_, not the other way around!"_

_"Well, you didn't seem too eager to push her off!" He knows she's overreacting, but there's nothing that says he has to be rational when she isn't._

_"Oh, and you're such a god-damned saint!" He's fuming and she shoves him. He steps back, allowing her a way out. She doesn't miss the opportunity, heading straight for the front door. He follows, scowling as he half-listens to the rant she's already started._

_"- and clearly it was imbecilic of me to even consider the notion that you could follow a monogamous lifestyle!"_

_She loses him a bit there, but he catches the gist of it. He's fucking pissed._

_"You think I would cheat on you?" He almost can't believe the accusation, and he really doesn't want to know the answer to his question. The look she sends him does answer it though, and it breaks something within him._

_"Well, it's not like cheating is outside of your skill set, Noah."_

_He slams his hand on the wall, ignoring her flinch as he seethes. He leans forward, and he's caught somewhere between yelling and hissing._

_"Fuck that! And you have such a perfect record?" She glares, flipping her still wet hair over her shoulder as she turns to fully face him._

_"I have _never_ cheated on anyone!"_

_He sneers, adopting a mockingly apologetic, severely transparent, expression. His voice drips sarcasm,_

_"Oh,_ that's right. _My bad! You don't cheat, you just chase after what's already taken, don't you?"_

_He expects her to be offended, expects her to be angry. She probably is, but she is such a good actor that it doesn't show._

_Her bitter laughter cuts him, but it's her follow up that stuns him,_

_"And this lecture is coming from 'the bastard father'?"_

* * *

**Aight, if you didn't catch on, I'll break it down for you: This is a flashback. This happened way before the events in this story. I've made the decision to include a series of flashbacks within the story, some like this, some happy, but I don't want them within the other chapters. **

**Real, relevant chapter coming soon. My goal is to get this story finished up over christmas break, but as of yet I have no idea how long this thing is going to be. I mean, this _was _a one-shot when I first wrote it. XD **

**Anyways, I'll warn you now that not all the memories will be this long, some may be only a few hundred words.**

**Poll is still going, expect the next chapter very soon. **

**As always, review if you have the time/or something to say. This is my first story so, really, I appreciate it. :3**


	5. Chapter 5

The fourth time it happens, there's a pretty decent chance that they're both blaming this one on God.

"Is it just me, or does this whole set-up seem just a tad cliché?"

He glances at her then, one eyebrow raised as his head lolls in her direction, his expression shifting from bored to what she thinks is a blend of disbelief and mocking amusement. She does not appreciate that look, quite the opposite in fact. She debates whether or not she should scowl at him, but ultimately decides that the gesture would not be becoming.

It's not her fault he's so…so, unsociable. Here she is, trying to alleviate the awkward tension (that may or may not exist), and he's just lounging in the corner, not even attempting to make this a little more tolerable.

She turns her head away, pressing her lips together, pouting in a fashion that she could probably trademark. She knows he's still staring at her, she can practically _feel_ his gaze, and she's nearly 100% positive that his eyes are fixated on a point that is wholly inappropriate. She suddenly feels the need to defend herself. She's not entirely sure why she wants to, but she chalks it up to old habits. Clearing her throat, so as to draw his gaze _upward_, she promptly begins her defense.

"Well, I suppose this whole situation isn't cliché in its entirety. I mean, there was always some chance of us running into each other, eventually, even in a city of roughly ten million individuals. It was a dismally small chance, perhaps, but still a chance nonetheless. As for meeting at that party, it was clearly only a matter of time. With both of us being involved in the music industry, albeit at quite different ends, we were bound to have a similar contact somewhere. Still, while neither of those occurrences were entirely unexpected, it still seems like it would be highly unlikely for us to see so much of each other so suddenly…but then again, unlikely is not exactly impossible."

She takes a breath then, interrupting her little spiel to allow some oxygen to reenter her lungs. She notices him out of the corner of her eye, and can tell that he's staring at her in total, blatant disbelief. She tries to not think about it as she continues, staring straight ahead.

"Now, normally I would agree with the notion that the odds of us being in the same building at the same time, despite having wholly unrelated reasons for being in said building, are next to nothing. So, obviously I would have laughed if someone was to suggest the additional scenario of us both ending up trapped in the same elevator, because really, that's completely _impossible_."

At that she hears a grunt from him, and she doesn't have to look at him to presume that he's rolling his eyes. She continues as if she had not been interrupted, because she's quite good at that, "However, given the current context, I will have to remedy myself, and my opinion, and instead say that the scenario is just _highly improbable._"

Satisfied, she claps her hands together, lacing her fingers, and clasps them primly in front of her. Leaning back, she allows her shoulder blades to rest against the cool, creamy marble.

The cool, creamy marble of the elevator she is in.

The cool, creamy marble of the elevator she is currently trapped in.

The cool, creamy marble of the elevator she is currently trapped in with one Noah Puckerman, who, at this very moment, is looking rather-

She stops her train of thought, realizing that wherever her thoughts are heading is not a place she wants to acknowledge right now, not unless it'll help her pry those doors wide open. So, pleasantly redirecting her thoughts, she finally musters the courage to look at him.

He's leaning heavily against the side wall, his legs crossed out casually in front of him, his body angled towards hers. She's surprised to see that his expression of disbelief has only grown, and that now it may even contain a bit of revulsion. His gaze worries her, more than she cares to admit, and she looks away quickly, biting her lip. She remembers that look, and out of another old habit she moves to rectify the situation.

"Well, perhaps I _am_ over-thinking this whole thing just a bit. Coincidences do happen, right? Yes, I'm clearly blowing this out of proportion; my therapist always said that I did that, and you never know there _may_ have actually been some substance to his claim. At any rate, it's been several years since I've scheduled anything with-"

"Damn." he mutters, shaking his head, and he's just disruptive enough to break her out of her tirade. She takes a breath, looking over to see him with his head slightly bent as he stares ahead. He's not looking at her as he says, rather bluntly,

"I forgot how much you talk."

She blinks, momentarily stunned by his confession. Then she realizes that he pretty much just insulted her, and she should totally be angry right now.

"Did you even listen to a single thing I said?" She huffs, crossing her arms and proving just how upset she really is. She's beyond upset actually, she's positively furious. So she really can't understand why her lips quirk upwards, because it really just doesn't make any sense. When he doesn't respond to her she rolls her eyes, turning to face him. He looks up at her, but he just stares at her in disbelief until he repeats it,

"I can't believe I actually forgot how much you fucking talk!"

He sounds so horrified, so scandalized, that she has to fight back a smile. Being the terrific actress that she is, she doesn't let her amusement show, and instead she fixes him with her sternest glass. Then, in a voice that feigns severity and formality,

"You sir, are _such_ an ass."

He smirks at that, at _her_, and she can't tell whether he's legitimately amused, or just mockingly so. His expression is hard to decipher, and she's reminded again of how good of an actor he can actually be. She's distracted by her thoughts when he snickers, and he looks sort of proud as he drawls, "Aw, look who's using profanities like a grown-up."

She had also forgotten how horrible of an actor he can be. She would recommend some classes for him to take but, thankfully, she knows him a little bit better than that.

So instead she just looks away, rolling her eyes as she distinctly refuses to acknowledge his comment with any sort of response. She really should know by now that Noah Puckerman isn't someone who is very easily ignored; then again, she probably does know that, even if she never remembers it when it matters. Like now for instance.

"Do your fathers know about this?" She practically feels his breath on her, and she almost jumps when she realizes just how close he is. She does squeal a little, to her great embarrassment and his further amusement.

Fighting off a blush, she scowls. He smiles triumphantly in return, laughing even as she hits him on the chest.

"That wasn't funny!" She snaps, feeling entirely dwarfed by his height. She steps back, distancing herself as the _click _of her heels is defined against the tile. Smoothing out her skirt, which was already perfectly straight, she fights off the indignant blush that she just knows is there. Calming herself, she turns on him, glaring in a very serious manner.

"Now, kindly return to _your_ corner of the elevator and stay there until someone lets us out!" She pauses briefly then adds, for good measure, "No talking!"

He blinks down at her, his eyebrows rising as his look of disbelief returns full force. He doesn't move from his spot, doesn't even look like he's going to consider it. He just stares at her, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. This causes her to scowl, and she crosses her arms again at his defiance. "What?"

"Are you _seriously_ trying to put me in a time out right now?" He looks far too amused, and when he crosses his arms she knows he's just mocking her. And if he's trying to hide his laughter he's doing a horrible job. She opens her mouth to protest, but she can only proceed to close it and open it several more times. She really can't say no, because that would be a lie, but she doesn't plan on saying yes either. So, really, her only option is to use this to insult him further.

"Well, if you insist on behaving like an overgrown child, then you will be treated as such."

"Yeah?" He asks, humoring her. She nods sternly in response.

"Yes. If you can't behave, I have no choice but to send you to the naughty corner."

She wants to slap herself as soon as the words are out, because even she can tell that her phrasing was…unfortunate. Still, she realizes that slapping herself would be pointless, as in reality physical abuse probably wouldn't help the current situation.

He smirks down at her, again, but this time it's slightly off, slightly different, and she knows exactly why. Subconsciously she presses herself against the wall, which seems to suit him just fine as he closes the gap in between them.

"Naughty corner, huh? I guess that's fair." He murmurs, resting his hands on either side of her, leaning in, his body overshadowing hers, "But I've got one question…" She shivers as he bends down, and it takes all of her courage to stare him in the eye as he offers a lazy grin.

"Do I have to go alone?"

Her breath catches in her throat, and suddenly she feels way too hot. The elevator seems a lot smaller, and she blames it on her on-again-off-again claustrophobia. It certainly has nothing to do with the man that's practically pressing her up against the wall, no, that's just a coincidence; right?

She struggles to maintain her composure as one of his hands skims along her side, his palm flattening around her hip. She tries to look anywhere but his eyes, but she's failing miserably. He leans in further, and she lets him, and she wonders for a brief moment if this, right here, is really happening.

Before she can get her answer the elevator lets out a musical _ding_, and then the doors are opening. He jumps away like he's been burnt, and he's out the door before she can fully come to her senses. She follows after him into the hall, and for a moment they're both there, and she's wondering if some sort of farewell is appropriate the fourth time around. Seeing as he's still standing there, she decides that it is.

Fixing a brilliant smile onto her face, she turns to him, pretending that whatever just happened didn't really happen.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye then. It was…good, seeing you again, Noah. I would assume this to be the last time we run across each other, but given our previous luck-"

"Yeah, yeah, Berry. I get it." He cuts her off, waving his hand dismissively. She resists the urge to frown. He's detached already, and he's pointedly _not_ looking at her, so she can't see any of the emotions that cross his face. He turns to her then, and she's disappointed to see that his expression reveals nothing at all. He opens his mouth, then hesitates, and immediately changes what he was about to say,

"I'll see you later."

He turns away then, and he gets all of three steps before he stops again. Judging by his posture, she thinks he might be struggling with something, though she can't fathom a guess as to what (she's lying). She's completely perturbed when he turns around, both by the abrupt action itself and by the devilish grin that's now etched across his face,

"Congratulations, by the way."

She's confused, and it must show, because he lifts his left hand into the air, tapping his ring finger several times with his thumb. She feels the blood drain from her face, feels her insides turn to ice. She wants to say something, but no words come to mind. He's still smiling, and only _now_ does she understand just how cynical that grin truly is. He takes a few backward steps before he turns around, walking away in a fashion that is entirely too anticlimactic.

It takes her a few moments to come to her senses, and then she's quick to remind herself that her schedule is far too packed to waste time standing here. She pulls out her phone, noting wryly that it gets _much_ better service outside of the elevator. Noting the time, she frowns when she realizes that she's going to be late for her one o'clock.

She's trying to fight off the feeling of dread that's seeping through her; she's trying not to wonder _when_, exactly, he first noticed the ring.

* * *

**You know, I was really at a loss for this chapter, inspiration wise. So I decided to ask my friend for a prompt. Her prompt was "naughty corner". So,... that pretty much explains the motivation behind this chapter. XD**

**I think I'll put in another memory next, though I'm not really sure at this point. I'll have to mull it over. Hopefully you'll all be distracted by this while I'm being indecisive. The next REAL (non-flashback) chapter will feature another glee character, and I actually have that chapter pretty much all planned out, so no worries there.**

**The poll's coming along nicely, it's good to get all your opinions on how I should end my story. I'd let you know what's winning, but I really don't want to spoil the surprise. ;)**

**As always, review if you have the time/desire. :3 I appreciate it. **

**Edit: I fixed up the ending a bit, I was disappointed by the last few paragraphs. It's sort of funny that this story started out from such a simple prompt.**


	6. Chapter 6

_"Noah?" Her voice fades off as she says his name, her gaze fixated on the box._

_"Yeah, babe?" He sounds so casual- way too casual, actually._

_She glances up to find him watching her, but for once she can't decipher his expression. He's sprawled out on her countertop, reclining back on his palms. He really shouldn't be up there, her germaphobe roommate will freak if she finds out. But at the moment, she really can't bring herself to care._

_"I don't understand." She admits, gesturing downwards; she's sure her confusion is blatantly apparent. He doesn't say anything, he just quirks a brow, an amused smirk playing along the edges of his mouth. She looks down again, then back at him, her lips slightly pursed._

_"What is this?" She can't help it if she sounds a little weary. She's had an unbearably long day, and she doesn't really want to deal with whatever inane scheme he's working on. If he notices her tone he doesn't let on._

_"Really babe, Jews are supposed to be smart. Don't tarnish our rep." He rolls his eyes as he says this, grinning despite her glare. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he crosses his arms and stares down at her._

_"It's a puppy, duh." Yes, the box obviously contains a sleeping puppy, and yes, she already knew that. She knows he know that's not what she meant. She would really appreciate a little less attitude right now; it's late and she has a six o'clock appointment tomorrow. Crossing her arms, mocking him, she does her best to make sure her annoyance is transparently obvious._

_"Let me try that again, why do you have a puppy?"_

_"I don't, you do. Happy birthday." He announces it like he's reading from the newspaper, if he ever read a newspaper._

_She blinks, as she definitely wasn't expecting that. For good reason, mind you._

_"It's not my birthday." If he doesn't know when her birthday is by now he's in trouble._

_"Yeah, well, let's just say that the options on your birthday weren't too good."_

_She looks down again, watching the tiny thing as it sleeps. She doesn't want to admit it, but it is rather adorable. She has a terrible feeling that she's going to lose this one._

_"What kind of dog is it, anyways?" She asks, kneeling down to get a better look at the white and black bundle. She tries, but she can't help the smile that's on her face._

_"Great Dane." Well, if there's anything that can wipe the smile off her face, it's most certainly _that_._

_"You have got to be kidding me." She groans, and then she's straightening up to glare at him again._

_"What?" He's defensive; he obviously thinks his choice was a good one. Probably because he's an idiot. He knows only small dogs are allowed in her apartment._

_"Why didn't you just get me a horse?" She rolls her eyes, completely sarcastic. _

_"One, there was no way I was getting a horse up those steps, so stop your fantasizing right there. Two, he'll still be easier to hide than a horse."_

_"Yeah, I'm sure no one will ever suspect that he surpasses the twenty pound limit when he's **galloping** down the hall."_

_"Well shit, did you expect me to pick out a Chihuahua? That's not exactly badass, babe."_

_"You really think my roommate's going to allow this?"_

_"Your roommate is a bitch-"_

_"Noah!" She's appalled, but she doesn't deny it._

_"Come on, you might as well put a collar on her!"_

_"That's horrible…" She still doesn't deny it, she agrees with him, he notices._

_"Anyways, don't you have a list of all the stuff you can blackmail her with?" She did, that was true. She didn't exactly like her roommate. Still, there's no way she'd be able to hide a dog that's bound to weigh more than her._

_"Noah, there's no way he can stay here." She sighs, and it breaks her heart to see him look so defeated. But really, there's no way around the truth. She thinks she's won, but then he sits up straight, uncrossing his arms._

_"You're right, he can't stay here." She eyes him nervously even as he says it; even if he knows he's lost, he's being way too agreeable right now. There's still at least twenty four minutes of fighting on the agenda. And if that wasn't enough to cause worry, his smirk is definitely screaming 'evil plot'. She understands when he finishes his statement,_

_"He'll stay with me."_

_She really should have seen this coming. She'll always be surprised she didn't_

_"Noah, do you even know how to take care of a puppy?" Honestly, she's pretty nervous. He couldn't keep a plant alive for more than two days, plastic plants included. She really couldn't trust him with anything more complicated than that._

_"Nope. Not a problem." He's grinning, and suddenly she thinks she's losing again, even though he's being an idiot and not making any sense._

_"How is that not a problem?" She's moody again, mostly because she can tell something is up. She really doesn't want to lose. _

_"Because it's your dog, not mine. It's your responsibility to feed it and shit." Oh, he did not just say that. He is not **that** stupid._

_"What?"_

_He scoffs, speaking slowly and clearly, as if she were the idiot in the room, as he summarizes his last statement._

_"It's your dog; it's your job to feed it." She cannot believe his audacity sometimes. She has to clench her hand just to avoid slapping him._

_"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" Her schedule is hectic; he lives on the opposite side of the city; there's no way she has time for a dog right now. _

_"I guess you'll just have to drop by more often." He shrugs, grinning down at her._

_She shakes her head slowly, trying to hide her exasperation. He's just not getting it; he's making it sound too easy, he's pretty good at doing that._

_"You know how busy my schedule is, Noah." She ignores the way his mouth tightens, because she doesn't want to deal with it. She knows her routine is putting a strain on their relationship, in more than one way, but she doesn't want to acknowledge that right now. "I barely manage to come to your apartment twice a week!"_

_"Well," he drawls, perfectly blasé even as he slips down off the counter, "at that rate the thing's going to die." His hands wrap over her hips as he says this, tugging her closer even as she tries to resist. He's clearly amused, and she's positively horrified by his response. She opens her mouth to comment on what a horrible, lousy, contemptible, appalling person/boyfriend he is, but he's talking before she can get the chance._

_"So, unless you want him to starve, you'll just have to move in with me."_

_It takes her several seconds to register his words. She's speechless, and he's looking way too smug. She's trying to fight off the giddiness, trying to fight off the smile forming on her lips. She guesses she must be failing, because he pulls her flush against him, kissing her before she can actually think of a coherent response. Her arms wrap around his neck._

_Should she be upset that he's guilted her into this? Probably. This is a rather low blow. But at the moment, she really can't bring herself to care; it's all she can do to roll her eyes and smile into the kiss._

* * *

**Eh, this isn't my favorite chapter, but I think it's useful...maybe. We'll see. I'm might rewrite it.**

**Anyways, inspiration came from my friend, as he convinced his girlfriend to move in with him through similair methods...it does happen in real life people. **

**I'll get to work on the next chapter, though I also have another one-shot for LJ that I'm working on...we'll see which one I post first? I'm not going to have a lot of time between Thanksgiving break and Christmas break...hopefully I'll have time to post something through.**

**P.S. Am I supposed to respond to my awesome reviewers? Or do I just admire you from a non-threatening distance? Either way, I adore you all. ;_;**


	7. Chapter 7

The fifth time around, if he's being honest with himself, it's pretty much everyone's damn fault.

Thankfully he isn't an honest man, so it's easy enough for him to cast the blame elsewhere. He doesn't have to acknowledge that he's the one who started this, what with his inability _to keep his fucking mouth shut_, so he can go right ahead and blame Finn for this whole fucking mess. Damn Finn and his inability to act, that was what made this thing fall apart. Then again, he couldn't place all the blame on him, because he had already known Finn was a shitty actor, so it wasn't really a surprise.

If anything, he's laying the blame on _her_ for this one, her and that snotty "no-one-will-ever-upstage-me" mindset she possesses. Yeah, if it wasn't for her overreaction, this shit wouldn't have gone down.

* * *

"Gav! Get the fuck down!" To no one's surprise the dog doesn't budge, looking perfectly at home on the leather couch. Fed up, Puck pushes the black-and-white behemoth off, glaring as the dog plops down on the floor with a very audible thud. Great, it was only a matter of time before he received more complaints from the below apartment.

It would only be the fourth time this month.

"Damn dog." He mutters, running a hand over his head as he sinks into the leather.

"I'm telling you, he's a bear."

Puck's eyes flit back to the television screen his friend was currently occupying via live feed. He decides to not argue over it. No matter how many times they had had this conversation, he could not convince Finn that Gav was, among other things, a dog. Sighing, he lays back,

"As long as he doesn't eat another couch, I don't care what the fuck he is."

Finn laughs, glancing up from whatever's occupying his attention off screen.

"Gave up on the whole world record thing? He's destroyed, what, five now?"

"Seven." His surely reply only increases his old friend's humor, and he's fighting off the beginnings of a grin himself.

"Maybe it's not too late to try obedience classes?" Because the first four had worked out so fabulously.

"And miss out on the entertainment of watching him destroy another half-dozen couches?"

Finn glances up, a smirk tainting his smile, "So that's how you entertain yourself now?" The innuendo is not missed, and is promptly met with a raised middle finger.

Ignoring the Staff Sergeants laughter, Puck returns his attention to his phone, checking his new texts and sending the necessary replies.

"What kind of name is Gav, anyways?" Finn asks, his gaze returning to dog/beast stretched out on the floor.

"Hell if I know, Rachel named him. After a guy in a play I think."

"Shit, that reminds me! I still need to call her…"

Puck stops listening at that point, his body tense as his hand subconsciously tightens around his cell phone. It's an old reaction, practically instinctual, but thankfully Finn doesn't notice.

"You still talk to her?"

Finn stops talking, and there's the briefest hesitation. True, their friendship had been repaired, but only under the mutual assumption that they would never mention their history with girls.

_Easy Puckerman, keep it cool._

"..Oh, yeah. I promised to call her. Probably should do it today, while I have time-"

He turns away from the screen then, staring down at his cell phone. He listens as Finn changes the subject, going off about some botched drill that happened earlier, and how he might get off for a week sometime soon, but he doesn't really take anything in.

"I ran into her awhile ago." He's not sure why he brings it up, but he does. Finn stops talking, but Puck doesn't look up to see his expression.

"Really? In New York? What are the chances of that!" He whistles, and for the briefest moment Puck has the urge to mention he's seen her four times now.

He doesn't, but he still wants too.

"She's getting married." He's definitely not sure why he said that, and for a moment he's horrified, afraid that Finn might realize just how much Puck's bothered by all this. Luckily Finn has completely different concerns.

"Man, what the fuck?" Puck looks up at the screen, surprised to see that Finn's pissed.

"Why'd you tell me that! She probably wanted to tell me herself!"

_Shit._

Puck spends the next two hours trying to teach Finn how to act surprised. By the time they're done he's completely convinced they're both screwed.

* * *

_Someone's gonna die. _

Whoever was behind that door, Noah Puckerman was going to make sure they died slowly.

_At four in the fucking morning. _

He'd only turned in about an hour ago, and he had to be at the studio at ten. After a long night of drinking, he needed sleep more than anything.

So he'd been able to ignore the pounding for the first ten minutes.

Five minutes after that he decided murder would be justified in this case.

Yanking open the door, his expression nothing short of homicidal, he barely has the time to step aside as _she _nearly runs him over_. _She's looking more homicidal than he's ever seen her, and he's a little bit afraid as she whirls around to glare at him. Staggering backward as she stalks up to him, her heeled boots clicking against the polished wood, and he's fairly certain she's about to kill him.

"You told Finn!" His confusion lasts about three seconds before he understands.

_Fucking Finn! _It wasn't surprising his friend broke down, but he was still going to beat his ass for it.

Then he realizes she's still up in his face, prattling on and on about something that he's not listening to, and okay, maybe he's a little worried still (she is so within ball-kicking range). Then, at some point he regains enough of his common sense to realize that something's amiss.

"How do you know where I live?" Seriously, this wasn't a small town, this was New York. How the hell did she find him?

She stops her tirade, eyes wide, opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it once more.

"Finn told me."

"He knows where I live?"

"Surprisingly, as I believe that he sometimes forgets his own address, however he did not mention your new couch being so-"

"Hold up, he told you about my couch?" Okay, this was just getting weird. What the hell was Finn up to?

"Well it came up while we were talking about Gavroche, he wanted to know how I picked that name, and, well,... I didn't know you still had him honestly, and I didn't want to-"

"Damn it, did he tell you everything?"

"Well, I think he may have been a tad bit nervous, I mean he was rambling quite a bit…and I may or may not know about your encounter with a pair of supposedly Swedish twins last Saint Patrick's, but that's-"

"The Fuck? What _didn't _he tell you!"

"He didn't tell me why you told him!" She spat, finally having realized that he was just trying to turn this whole thing around on her. Pity, he thought he might actually get out of this not dead.

"How could you do this to me?" She's furious, and okay maybe she has the right to be, but he has nothing to defend himself with and he doesn't like it. Honestly, it was just a slip of the tongue, but there's no way she'd believe that. She'd be the last person to settle for such a mediocre excuse.

So, he resorts to saying what he's grown accustomed to thinking lately.

"Fucking Finn!" Because it's so much easier to blame the one person who isn't there.

"Don't insult him!" She snaps, eyes flashing, and he has to hide the fist he's made behind his back as his jaw clenches. Ah yes, he remembers now. It was always taboo to insult Finn, wasn't it? No matter _what_ happened, Finn was always off limits. How could he have forgotten that, even for a second?

He just stares at her, with absolutely nothing to say, his face and eyes completely frozen. It takes a few moments, but then she realizes what she just said and suddenly her mask is down, but only for a second.

"Why'd you even tell him?" She asks after the tension reaches its climax, and she's looking away because she doesn't want to face the truth, and he's still silent because he just doesn't know what to say.

He's saved by the bell, or rather, by the dog that's begging for her attention. She had done a good job of ignoring him up to this point, but it was no use. Honestly, she could only ignore the 120 pound hellhound for so long, especially when the said hellhound nearly takes her out by head-butting her in the side.

"Gavroche!" Her voice instantly loses its edge as she kneels down to shower the dog with enough affection to make up for all the missed years. He finds it a little hilarious how much she fawns over the thing, and even as he's watching her he's reminded of why the dog likes her so much more than it likes him. She's talking, mostly to the dog, but now and then she directs some of her words towards him, mostly to ask questions about the beast(Did he get bigger? He looks fat, have you been walking him? He's still on a vegan diet, _right_?), which is just fine by him (she might still want to hurt him).

"Well then, I guess I'm done here." She announces suddenly, startling him as she straightens back up. He notices her falter when she glances over at him again, and she looks away quickly. He thinks she may have finally realized he's only wearing his boxers. He may be a little amused by that.

He watches her carefully, wary that she's going to attack him out of nowhere (it would not be the first time). But she actually does look like she's done, because she's making eye contact again. "I trust you've learned your lesson?" She questions, her voice regaining all its authority and polished flair. He nods, even if he has no fucking clue what she's talking about.

"Sure did. It won't happen again." Is it even possible for him to commit a repeat offense? Maybe he could tell her dads, if they didn't know already.

She beams at him; and since he's still not sure if he's out in the clear his smile is a little unsure. She adjusts the purse on her shoulder, turns away and heads for the door. Before she reaches it she pauses, like he knew she would, and glances over again.

"You know, I have half a mind to charge you for taking up so much of my time." He raises a brow at that, because really, he could say the same. But he won't, he's not that much of an idiot. "If I see you again, you can expect a bill." He rolls his eyes at how official she sounds right then, wondering if she just naturally reverts to formality when she feels uncomfortable. Even though he knows he should hold his tongue, he can't help the sarcastic reply.

"Yeah, sure thing. If I run into you again I'll buy you dinner or something."

"I'd like that." She gives him a last smile, and he doesn't know what to say so he doesn't say anything. He's not brave enough to follow her out, so when she shuts the door behind her that's it; she's gone.

Gavroche noses the door, whining as he glances up at his owner. Puck sighs, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. Could he have been any more useless just then? Seriously, he hardly said a damn word. Hell, if this thing ever became a movie he'd probably be written out of the script.

Gritting his teeth, he realizes the truth but acknowledges nothing, not even in the darkness of his apartment.

It's starting to piss him off now too, because no matter how he looks at all this, he fucking hates it. He hates how she's always the one with all the lines, he hates how she's always the one leaving (not _always_), he hates how she's always the one in control, and he hates how much he _hates_ that ring on her finger.

Because honestly? He's getting a little tired of being upstaged.

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**Um, I'm back? XD**

**I guess I got a little sidetracked o3o**

**Reviews equal love. XD**


	8. Chapter 8

_Tonight he feels like a janitor._

_Seriously, only a janitor would have so many keys. He's pretty certain half of them don't even go to anything, and only God knows why he still has them. The only thing **he** knows is that, right now, he's having more than a little trouble getting into his house, and the keys are entirely to blame._

_Alright, maybe all of that alcohol isn't helping too much, and maybe Rachel Berry gyrating against him isn't all that helpful either._

_Her hands are roaming his body as he tries to differentiate between the keys, and he thinks that she doesn't really care that she's making his task infinitely harder. As her hands travel lower he's positive she doesn't care, but he's doing alright, especially considering how her body's pressed up against his._

_But really, he can only take so much._

_So, when her hand shifts to grope an area where it shouldn't be, _notyet_, he's almost completely willing to give up the idea of getting inside. Really, being inside is overrated anyways, isn't it? But he knows that it's colder outside than it feels, and he knows it'll suck if they get caught here, so he decides that he should probably give it one more shot. _

_Gritting his teeth, he pulls back enough to glare at her out of the corner of his eye._

_"We can do this here." He threatens, and he means it, and thankfully she seems to grasp what he's saying. Regaining a bit of her composure in an instant, she moves her hands back to his arm, and even if she is still pressed up against him at least she's not _moving_._

_Finally he's able to find the right key (thank the fucking Lord!) and he all but breaks the door down in his haste to open it. This has her laughing, but he really doesn't care as he moves inside, bringing her with him. Pushing the door shut he has he against the door in an instant._

_She's already loosened his tie and she's already gotten his shirt half-unbuttoned, and he finds it a little unfair that she's completely clothed (he'll ignore the fact that she has a lot less to get out of). Wanting to rectify this immediately, he pulls her closer, hands intent on finding the zipper to her pathetic excuse of a dress._

_But she's regained a little of her rationality in the last fifteen seconds, and she doesn't fail to be the voice of reason here. _

_"We shouldn't do this." She murmurs, and even if it's not completely convincing when muttered against his skin, it's still been said, and he can't really ignore it._

_"Nah, we really should." He's trying to convince her with another kiss, keeping her close as his hands continues to roam. It seems to work, because she's totally responding and her hands are all over him. But her conscience, which is always sober, isn't giving up without a fight. _

_"Noah, we can't do this." The words are whispered, and without conviction, but her hands have stopped moving and he's not so drunk that he doesn't notice. He stills as well, and he's not entirely sure if his groan is audible or not._

_"Yeah, we really can." He's not going to give up without a fight either. He presses another open kiss to her neck, and she's not resisting at all._

_"Noah…" He really wants her to stop talking, but the fact that she said his name takes away some of that desire. It renews his resolve, and he has her up against the door again, and he's looking her in the eyes._

_"Give me one reason why we can't?" He grits out, and she doesn't respond because she can't think of anything, so he continues, "There's nothing wrong with this. There's nothing stopping us." He affirms, convinced he's got her now. He's tired of excuses, from her and from everyone else._

_"But I don't love you." She slurs, and h__e almost wants to laugh. He almost asks "When the fuck has that ever mattered?", but he doesn't._

_Instead he's looking down at her as she drunkenly stares up at him, her lips pouting and her brow furrowed, and he can tell she's confused. He knows that somewhere in the back of her hyperactive, little mind she's trying to clear away the buzz, trying to think rationally again, trying to remember that this is _**wrong**_._

_But the thing is: he doesn't really give a damn; because she's here, because her nails are digging into his skin, and because he's drunk too, so morality can go fuck itself._

_His decision made he leans in, supporting her body with his (he thinks she's going to fall over any second now). His arms tighten around her, his hands seeking warm flesh and the zipper to her dress._

_He's smirking that same old smirk now too, and all of her protests die as he mumbles against her skin,_

_"Details baby, details."_

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**Please Review.**

**This is my first real story, I could really use the criticism. Thanks. :) **


	9. Chapter 9

Don't get too excited, this is not a chapter. This is just a long overdue author's note. Basically, this is my warning that this story is currently on hiatus (though anyone checking up on it could probably figure that out).

I was originally planning on just scrapping the story, but considering I had fleshed out so much of the plot, I may begin working on it again. Maybe. No promises. Sadly, I've just lost my inspiration when it comes to this pairing... ever since I lost interest in Puck...which was probably around the time he lost his balls, really.

My apologies for the long wait, I'll be rereading what I have so far and see if I can get re-inspired.

Feel free to comment if you have any suggestions, reviews, or comments that you'd like me to see. Critiques to my writing are very welcome, I am trying to develop my skills in fiction (maybe as a backup career, someday?) and I still do enjoy hearing from you guys.

Sincerely, DevilofSex


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